This is my last report on Lake Constance in autumn. We were expecting a warm golden October, like the October’s in the last three or four years. We were planning to travel from Lake Constance to the North Sea and eventually Holland, but unfortunately, October was freezing this year. And no matter how high we turned up the heat in our caravan, it couldn’t fight the cold, clammy, morning, fog, which seeped in under the door, through the roof windows and into our clothes, blankets and under our skin.
One morning after cupping our hot coffee, Hubby and I compared who has the coldest hands. Not even our coffee cups could warm them up. We decided to pack up and go back home. And we aren’t sorry we did..
But still … we spent wonderful weeks hiking through abundant fields, overflowing with ripe grapes, plums, apples, pears, and even late strawberries. Sweet sour apple aroma filled the air, teasing our taste buds, till we gave in (like Adam and Eve) and took bites from the wide assortment, as distinctive in flavors as the colors on a painter’s pallet.
Harvest festivities took place in every village. Tractors pulling trains of small wagons, piled high with fruit, slowed down the commuter traffic to a pleasant crawl, allowing children to jump out of their parent’s cars and gaily walk alongside the farmers’ tractors by the fields.
People looked so healthy: ruddy red cheeks, windblown hair, laughing eyes. Folks stopped to sniff at the fruit cupped in their hands and they took deep breaths of crisp, fresh, red and orange October air.